


black dog; guardian angel

by noctyx (nicrt)



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mild Blood, Omen!Noctis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10073297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/pseuds/noctyx
Summary: Omen wasn't like Umbra or Pryna. Not a guardian to their charges, nor a messenger of the Astrals. He was the embodiment of darkness and carried no love for anything or anyone; merely a steadfast loyalty to his master.





	1. black dog

**://black dog**  
  
The darkness of the scourge was slick around his heart, with oil being pumped together with his blood. It stuck to his insides like poisoned glue, overshadowing whatever shred of humanity he had inside of him. Like the thralls it has taken, he was consumed by the emptiness of the plague. But his mind - clouded and darkened as it was - burned with a will unlike his own.  
  
There were death and destruction around him. Fires setting grass and stone ablaze. Hounds of three heads snarled as they approached him, challenging him. Some part of his former self remained; the nonchalant and lazy persona he had built before. He retained his composed position, seated on a boulder with one knee up and an arm perched over it. Omen growled back at the other daemons, more of a challenge of his own than a warning to ward off the others.  
  
He remembered he was an animal lover. But that fire seemed to have died out along with the rest of his personality. Still, he reached a hand out and pat the black dog's head. Omen didn't halt his growling but he did settle back down.  
  
If the Fallen King wasn't worried, then he wouldn't either.  
  
The Fallen stood up, swaying as if drunk as he did so. He inhaled and felt his lungs burn from the ashen air. Not that it mattered; they would heal and he would live to see another night. He couldn't help but smile broadly then, the beginnings of a crazed laughter ready to escape him.  
  
The daemons closed in, hackles rising and teeth baring. They sensed in him what they know does not exist in the Accursed One: light. They could not comprehend the existence of such a hybrid. The Accursed One once had a light shining within him, but that had dimmed out to make way for hate. They knew him to be one of their own, despite the form he took.  
  
This Fallen King was still too bright.  
  
The first one to lunge at him fell before his feet. Black blood oozed out of all three throats, where a large slash sat pretty across each skin. A sword, silver metal forged into an engine for a hilt, had materialised in the Fallen's hand. The blade didn't stain, having burnt away from the magical purity of the weapon. The Fallen relaxed his stance and smirked, a visible sneer despite his lowered gaze.  
  
The other daemons circled around him now, taking no moment to pause. If they did, they would pay for it with their lives.  
  
Not that it mattered, of course.  
  
The blue shadow left behind on the boulder surprised some, pacing back from its sudden appearance. Others were more concerned with the blade that was about to fall upon them. With the yelling of a mad man, the Fallen had warped towards a random daemon and slashed at one of its head. It dropped to one knee, with no time to recover before the sword swung at another head. This time it disappeared into a pool of black ooze and another hologram of light was left with it.  
  
He was a blur of blue lines, little crystals trailing after him with each warp-strike he made. A manic laughter followed after each successful blow. Blood never spilt for there was none too red to be had. Metal clashed with teeth and claws, howls of pain and anger mixed with the cackles of evil.  
  
As the last of the daemons fell, Omen ceased his growling at last. He sniffed the air then jogged to where his master stood at. He paused, looked to the side of the clearing they were at then continued on. Omen sat down by the Fallen's legs as he had before, waiting patiently for his new master to join him.  
  
The cuts and bruises on his skin discoloured and disappeared. The light that shone through him began to fall away and the scourge began to dig itself into his own star once more. The Fallen was now chortling, quietly and with more pain and agony than before.  
  
As he lifted his face to turn towards the man watching, his eyes glowed an eerie mix of orange and red. They burned holes into his audience's heart; the Fallen's gaze was wrongfully malevolent and hard.  
  
The Fallen grinned as wildly as his appearance looked.  
  
"Hello Nyx."  
  
Nyx's heart faltered for a moment, heartstrings tugged in a strange mixture of adoration, desperation and denial. Of all the things that hadn't changed, it was the huskiness of his lover's voice. Still the same boyish sound, still the same soft tone.  
  
"Come to slay the last hope Eos has?" The Fallen taunted as he sat down next to the dog. "You'd have to wait a turn. The daemons seemed more interested in it than you right now."  
  
When Nyx spoke, his mouth had dried out and his words had to croak out of his throat.  
  
"Noctis."  
  
The Fallen's smile twitched and it lost its hold. "Ahh. That was my name, wasn't it? Is. Was." He frowned. "It gets foggy sometimes."  
  
"Noctis." He repeated, louder but still broken. "Your name- your name is Noctis."  
  
"Perhaps." He scratched the skin behind Omen's ear. "Once upon a time. I like what they're calling me now, though. Fitting. Dramatic."  
  
"You sound like Ardyn."  
  
Nyx hadn't expected him to fly at him but he did. Noctis warped right at him, bowled him onto the ground and had his face pressed up against his own.  
  
"Do not," he hissed, eyes still disturbingly hued, "compare me to him."  
  
Angry Noctis was always a volatile concoction to be annoyed at. Angry, corrupted Noctis was a whole other danger in and of itself.  
  
"Why?" He managed to ground out under the pressure of the choke Noctis' hand had on his throat.  
  
The Fallen loosened his grip, allowed air to rush in but held firm.  
  
"I am nothing like that traitor; that true fallen. I am cursed but clear. I am dimmed but still light. I am-"  
  
The bark came from Omen and the Fallen whipped his head to see what he wanted. Omen was standing, waiting and ready to leave. He watched Omen for awhile then turned to stare down at Nyx again.  
  
Grey eyes searched for some form of hope in his face. They bleed need and shone 'please', like the first time Nyx was straddled by him. Fragments of that memory surfaced and the Fallen smiled. Too gone to be soft but too fond to be lost.  
  
The Fallen leant down and took the man by the lips. It was a heated, unforgiving and yearned exchange. Familiar nuances in tongue and teeth and lips. Nyx held onto this kiss like a lifeline; the Fallen knew it was nothing but a death wish.  
  
He forced them apart and kept Nyx pinned down, sneering at the whine the older man made. Strength of the darkness ensured that Nyx would not readily pursue. The Fallen inched down again, but hovered above Nyx's face. He recognised the scars and the moles, the lines around the eyes and mouth, the short hairs and tattoos. He knew of them and knew he once felt something for them. Perhaps. In time. Once more.  
  
He bridges the gap for one more slow and chaste kiss.  
  
The Fallen warped away, leaving Nyx to scramble up and watch him from afar again. His head was lowered as he knelt beside the black dog, brushing its head. The dog glanced at Nyx, snarled once in warning before wandering ahead.

"He does not want you to follow." Noctis explained, standing up and watching the dog. "A perilous journey awaits for those who follow us. I think he likes you."

Then he turned to Nyx once more and oh. Oh, it was glorious to see those eyes blue once more. To see his smile bright and soft and fond and loving. To see, just for that moment, his lover again.  
  
"I am Noctis," the Fallen announced as his eyes burned red once again.


	2. pieces

**://pieces**

Since Noctis' disappearance – the word ‘death’ seemed too real – things hadn't been the same. A sense of dread had fallen upon the company on the first night without him, turning into a simmering cauldron of despair sitting in silence over time. Everyone began to work like machines, pushing themselves far beyond the limitations their bodies and minds could handle. They threw themselves into the practice, habits and duties they knew how to do best.

Ignis played the role of mother hen - kept the group safe and sane for as long as possible. Gladio warred against the empire's lackeys and puppets - the first to dive into battle. Prompto tried so hard in his training - as if practicing for the day when he'd be better off alone.

Whenever they switched out with the three original party members to go on hunts - to let them rest at least - it was the same. Iris seemed to take after her brother, delivering devastating martial blows upon her enemies. Crowe burned through spells faster than they could collect them, unleashing a angry torrent of magic unto those caught in its path.

At night, during their stay at different outposts, the awful energy still lurked about. Pelna waited and listened; gleaned as much information as he could from listening to civilians and the radios strewn across the land. Libertus always called for Nyx to join him in a spar - whenever and wherever they could. The Marshal kept to himself, a steel statue lingering in the corner.

It was his Majesty and her Highness that Nyx often worried about. They took the news of how Noctis was gone harder than anyone else.

Princess Luna, who cried for days, still grieved for her lost friend even while she healed all and anyone she found tainted by the scourge. It showed in her weakened state, in the black tendrils that crawled across her skin; she was punishing herself with the same disease that she was trying to cure.

King Regis had completely shut down. He did not speak; did not react to anything nor interacted with anyone. Sir Amicitia took it upon himself to ensure that their king would not starve under grief.

Nyx had his own method in mourning. A mixture of suicidal battles and quiet distraught, of pained screams into the night and a skewered view of needing to protect everyone else alive in their merry band. Because he was weak and worthless when it came to saving Noctis.

The waters of Altissia still haunted him. In his sleep with vivid dreams of the seas running red with blood and turning black with the scourge; in his waking hours with clear memories of a boy falling from the skies and sinking deep into the blue abyss.

Noctis had been fighting desperately against the Chancellor of Niflheim – Ardyn Izunia. They hadn’t expected him to follow Luna to the altar as she prepared for the covenant. They hadn’t realised that he was there with ill intentions, despite his help over the course of their journey. They hadn’t been prepared for him to try and strike her down, once the Astral began to rage and ravage the whole land.

Noctis struck first, warping right between the two as Ardyn lifted the dagger to plunge it through her heart. Sword out, in the manner Gladio had taught him, whenever he had to go on defence. Noctis stayed close by her while she brokered the contract with the angry deity. Noctis had listened to whatever nonsense Ardyn was spewing, with all his dainty gestures and polite mannerisms.

Nyx had been too far from the altar, trying to save any of the civilians left behind, as many as he could. He was forced to watch the two converse; one too at ease, the other cornered like a rat. Forced to watch the ensuing battle between the two; a magnificent display of prowess and power. Forced to gaze on in disbelief as the Chancellor’s true colours showed; a shocking secret that made no sense at all.

An Armiger, as grand and beautiful as Noctis’ and Regis’, erupted about Ardyn; a set of dancing swords that floated around him, tinged in magenta light. Different from the greys and blues of the royals.

To stop a man – an immortal they later learned when the sword Noctis rammed through his chest did not kill him – whilst trying to forge a bond with an Astral had to be trying. To fight an immortal – who had commandment over magic and swordplay of a thousand years – with whatever immature powers Noctis wielded had to be painful. To watch his lover fall – when the Mark of the Hydraean had been received and the waves began to calm – as Ardyn shot him out of the sky with a blast of dark magic, had broken Nyx.

There was no reason to think that Noctis was even alive really. There was no point in mourning over a corpse that might have sunk to the bottom of the seas. There was nothing to believe in that might hint at Noctis being alive. Noctis could have stayed gone.

Yet in every one of his night terrors and flashbacks though, it all ended the same way. Every damn time his subconscious pieced together the images of the past in his head and burned them into his skull, there was the one constant that only Nyx saw.

A scrawny dog with yellow eyes, dragging Noctis out of the depths of the sea. Pulling him up the ruined docks, through the flooded streets. Fending off anyone that approached the pair; all growls, snarls and bites. Moving away from Nyx, as he cradled a fainted Luna in his arms. Taking Noctis with it, to a place too far and too dangerous for Nyx to follow.

And so Noctis was very much alive. That much was for certain. Gone; somewhere far away. That knowledge that Nyx held was the last strand of hope the rest held on to, in their weakest and darkest time. The only thing that was keeping the company together in the present day.

Present day was when he spotted the dog. He’s seen that dog before. Scrawny with yellow eyes. It watched him just as intently as he stared at it. When it moved, he followed. When it ran, he chased. When it stopped to bark at him, he pleaded it for answers. The world needed their hope. Their people needed their king. Their company needed their friend.

Nyx needed Noctis.

He was seated on a stone slab, surrounded by fires in the fields, so alive and alight. Smiling Nyx’s favourite smile, full of laughter like chimes being blown by the winds. He was dancing, graceful twirls in the air and flying from one end to another. His sword sung in delight, cutting powerful slashes and making beautiful arcs.

Noctis – his princeling, was there right in front of him.

And just as soon as his world pieced back together, it shattered just as fast.

Because his princeling’s eyes were blue.

Not red.


End file.
